Impossible Things
by Ladywilde
Summary: Complete! Set after finale, Mohinder nurses Sylar back to health with unforseen consequences. This is SLASH. Rated M for mature themes and a whole lotta angst.
1. Part One

Impossible Things

Part One

_It was the sweetness of your skin  
It was the hope of all we might have been  
That fills me with the hope to wish  
Impossible things_

- The Cure

_Mohinder nurses Sylar back to health with unexpected consequences, he himself could have never imagined…Spoilers: for "Exploding Man."_

**A/N I reworked this chapter - no lie a dozen times and I hope I did it justice. It was rough going…so I hope you guys aren't disappointed. Anyway…thanks for reading.**

He should have killed him.

That was obvious. He should have taken one look at the miserable wreck of a thing that had crawled himself to his door and unloaded a blissful, deserved bullet into his head and finished him off for good.

Instead, he dragged him into the house and threw him in the tub. He ripped off his shirt and took in the wound, a deep and fatal looking puncture that was still pumping blood in an angry fount. There was so much blood. He couldn't understand how he was still breathing, however shallow said breathing was. The water from the shower barely roused him, he watched his eye lids flicker and heard only one small moan from his lips but otherwise he looked lifeless.

If only that had been the case.

He had applied towels to the wound and pressed hard, hoping to stop the flow, after awhile it seemed to have done the trick. He had bandaged the wound as best he could and

then dragged him to the bed which was no mean feat considering that the man was more or less dead weight and a good deal heavier and taller then himself. Somehow he had managed. He had laid him there, watched him for signs of movement but there were none now.

He looked very young - younger then Mohinder would have thought and perhaps that was why he hadn't killed him then while he was weak and helpless.

Perhaps not…

Exhausted, he had taken a chair in the corner. He was grateful that for now those black, soulless eyes of his were welcomingly closed.

In the day that followed, he paced his small apartment from one room to the other, his nerves a wreck and his resolve in himself shaken to the core. He spent his time drinking endless cups of tea and having one sided conversations with himself that went nowhere.

He opened his eyes on the third day and Mohinder who was leaning over him, checking his vitals gave an unwanted gasp and pulled away but the dark eyes that opened just stared at him - they were bleary, unfocused but the voice that comes out is what stops him from running for the gun he keeps in his nightstand.

"Mohinder?" he whispers and the voice sounds almost relieved.

"Don't worry I am not going to hurt you," he protests weakly as Mohinder refuses to budge from the doorframe, eying him wearily.

"You mean you're too weak to hurt me," Mohinder replies with bitterness and Sylar nods, "yeah that too but even still…I won't."

He doesn't want to trust him but he does so anyway. He steps closer and sets about cleaning his wounds. Sylar grimaces at the first splash of antiseptic, gritting his teeth against it and his face, almost too pale is now contorted in pain.

Mohinder pauses.

"Are you alright?"

Sylar gives him a look, a slight smile on his lips.

"Well, it feels slightly better then a spinal tap if that's what you're asking?"

_A sense of humor._

Mohinder almost chuckles at the thought but instead he only smirks and pours more of the antiseptic onto a clean towel and starts patting the wound again.

"It serves you right," he mummers as Sylar catches his eye and holds it with that intense stare of his.

There is a pause, a heavy one.

"Very true," he replies.

He can see that his strength is returning now and Mohinder is fearful of the day in which he will be able to get up and leave.

The knowledge of what he will do once he goes fills Mohinder with a quiet dread that he can't ignore. The guilt is eating at him, wearing him down. He knows now that he is already condemned innocent people to death.

He is as guilty as he is - because he is little more then a coward. He can't end what has started to build inside him - unwanted, ugly, _wrong_.

He stares at himself in the mirror, waiting to recognize the hollow eyed stare of the man looking back - but he sees no traces of the man he knows.

He is starting to hate himself.

"You know why I came here, don't you?"

Mohinder is taken aback by the question, as he walks into the room to check on him.

Sylar is sitting up now. He is still weak but no longer near death, the color is returning to his face and every day he appears stronger, in better control of himself.

"No," Mohinder says, coming closer to the bed, "I really don't."

"Because…you're a good man Mohinder…I knew you would help me."

"I was going to kill you," Mohinder says, eyes narrowed.

"So, why didn't you?"

"I don't know," he admits, refusing to meet those dark, unfathomable eyes of his, their hard, demanding stare.

"I think you do," Sylar says and there is a small, infuriating, almost mocking smile on his lips and Mohinder turns from him, starts back towards the door.

"Just remember I did pull the trigger once," he says in what he hopes is a voice that projects a control that he does not feel.

"Mohinder?"

He turns back.

"You don't need be afraid of me," he says but Mohinder doesn't answer him. He leaves the room, shaking.

He wakes up the next morning on the sofa of which he has spent the last few weeks or so sleeping on. His body is stiff, the couch not having been the most comfortable place to sleep on. He sits up slowly, wiping the sleep from his eyes when he realizes what awoke him the first place.

The shower.

Someone was in the bathroom taking a shower.

He sits there a moment, still awakening, feeling unsettled by all that implies.

The shower shuts off and he listens to the sound of running water.

He gets up and moves cautiously towards the door and is startled when it opens and standing there wrapped only in a towel is Sylar.

The bandage, he just reapplied the night before is soaked through, a small ring of blood soaking through the gauze.

He is angry. He will have redo the bandage but it isn't only that - its this familiarity he can't stand.

He can't stand looking at him, walking out of the bathroom as if he lives here as if it's the most normal thing in the world for him to be standing in Mohinders hallway, wrapped in one of his bath towels.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Sylar smiles, "I needed a shower," he says calmly enough and Mohinder turns away, feeling a hot blush creep across his face as the towel falls a bit, revealing a glimpse of even more bare skin and Sylar smiles, that same infuriating, knowing smile of his, and reaches down and tugs it back into place.

"I don't think I used one of the good ones," he quips.

"I guess this means you're feeling better," Mohinder says, ignoring him as Sylar starts towards the bedroom.

"That depends on what you mean by better," he calls back over his shoulder and Mohinder has had enough of his snide, sarcastic remarks.

He stalks after him and follows him into the bedroom.

"I think you better get dressed and leave," he says and Sylar turns with one of Mohinder's shirts and slides it over his head.

"If that's what you want," he replies, challenging him yet again with another stare.

It drives the fury out of Mohinder and he is shouting before he even realizes he is.

"Did you think I was asking you to move in?"

Sylar just stares at him, amused smirk still held firmly in place.

"Can I get dressed?"

Mohinder chokes back another flood of anger and nods solemnly.

"I want you gone," he says and turns to leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

He goes into the kitchen and puts the kettle on, he finds he can barely get a cup from the cupboard, his hands are shaking so badly and he stops for a moment and he puts his head into his hands and feels hot tears burn his palms.

He doesn't hear him come up beside him, until he speaks.

"You know I was kind of hoping you would join me that shower," he says and Mohinder looks up and quickly wipes at his eyes, makes his expression hard.

"Then not only are you a lunatic but you're delusional as well."

Sylar chuckles and takes his hand and holds it and Mohinder wants to yank it back and away from him but finds he can't.

His touch _burns_…

It trails hot fire straight through his body and he feels it, the rush of the abyss, of what one would feel like to fall into as he stares into those eyes of his unable to look away.

"Now, you know why I came here," Sylar says and Mohinder pulls his hands away and moves away from him.

"Just leave , do me that one courtesy and just turn around and leave."

"Alright," Sylar says and he looks at him once more, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Mohinder says quietly but he isn't entirely sure and he hates himself for it, for even entertaining for the smallest of moments what it would be like to be with him, to feel those large hands of his on him, those lips…demanding, forceful, _controlling_.

"Thanks again Dr. Suresh," Sylar says with a smirk.

He turns and starts to go but something inside Mohinder snaps, something dark and alien and so unlike him. He grabs his arm and pulls him back and Sylar does not hesitate, not even for a second as he catches him in his arms and drives them both back towards the counter, upsetting some left out dishes. It doesn't stop them as there lips meet and collide in a fury of finally realized desire.

Mohinder closes his eyes as tightly as he can, feeling the thud of his heart pounding in his ears, willing away the evitable guilt that will surely follow but in this moment, all he can feel is _him_.

The fierceness of his desire, his strength and he gives himself up to the moment - this thing he has hungered for - this thing he should not want but is strangely powerless against.

Just once he will yield to temptation, to him.

"You don't know how long I have wanted this," Sylar breathes into his mouth.

He pulls back long enough to take Mohinder's face in his hands, starts to kiss him. The kisses are maddeningly slow, _tender_.

Mohinder doesn't want this. He doesn't want him to be gentle with him, patient. He wants the moment to catch him by surprise, take him by force. He doesn't want this to be about something other then lust and desire. He can't bear the thought that he might actually love this man. This loathsome thing that had killed his father and so many others.

"Just…don't…"

_Make me love you…_

Sylar pulls his body closer to his own, till they are pressed firmly against one another, the heat from each other sending shivers of pain and anticipation down Mohinder's spine.

He is crying silently, they spill down his face and he can feel his touch, so surprisingly tender and gentle. Those fingers skimming his tears, gentle lips leaning in and softly kissing them away.

He is shaking so hard, tremors racing through him as he stands there in Sylar's embrace, allowing him to sooth away his doubts. The last shreds of any resistance he might have left in him.

He gives himself up to the turmoil inside himself and he snakes his arms around his neck and draws him into his arms.

Sylar pulls back and grabbing him by his shirt turns them around and marches them towards the living room, their lips never leaving one another's as they go. Once there, he pushes Mohinder down onto the couch, pins him there with his mind as he reaches for his shirt and tosses it off and to the floor, the bandage along with it - all while eying Mohinder with that predatory gaze of his. The look of pure lust in those eyes causes Mohinder to groan out loud with anticipation as he lays there unable to move.

He hasn't even touched him but he can feel the buttons on his shirt rip, the belt of his pants being pulled from him and flung across the room and then Sylar is on him, pushing his pants off his hips, his mouth once more claiming his in a delicious fight for power that Mohinder willingly lets him win.

Sylar gives him back control of himself and Mohinder sets about returning his kisses, trailing them down his neck and to his shoulders and in return Sylar moves upon him like a man possessed.

He is being eaten alive it feels, that hot mouth of his everywhere - he moans from the pleasure and cries from the pain as he feels Sylar start to move inside him. There is no warning but it doesn't matter because he is ready for him, eager for it. He wants it to hurt, likes the gasp of pain he utters as he is taken now.

_Yes - make it hurt…hurt me… please…_

Sylar is panting over him, pressing his forehead to his own, bracing himself on his arms as he moves harder, faster inside him taking him to the very edge of madness, making his whole body ache with it.

Mohinder reaches up to grip him by his biceps, urging him on.

"Oh god, oh…"

Sylar stops mid thrust and looks at him and Mohinder arches his back, wanting him deeper.

"Please… don't…don't stop," he begs and Sylar catches his eye, and Mohinder sees tears in them.

He is overcome.

He doesn't know what to do as he sees the pain on the face of the man he thought beyond redemption, beyond saving. He moves under him, urging him on, wanting all of him.

He reaches up and digs his nails into his shoulders and cries with him as they start to move again in a tangled frenzy of limbs - of unspoken words now only being said as they moan and pant and move together, each of them reaching for a place of understanding there is no name for.

"Sylar…" Mohinder moans and pulls him into another kiss, their tongues dancing together and suddenly Sylar is all the way in, riding him harder then before and Mohinder can feel his tears as they fall and mix with his own.

"It's Gabriel," he says, breathing the name in his ear, "call me Gabriel."

It's upon him now, Mohinder can feel it building - the pleasure mixed with the pain of it and he starts to sob uncontrollably as he hits his climax and he feels a shudder go through Sylar's own body as he follows after him.

Sylar collapses on top of him with a strangled cry and lies there, panting.

Mohinder pulls his body closer to his own, both of them too overwhelmed to speak, to break the spell of the moment.

There are things to be said but neither of them can even begin to put them into words.

So, they simply hold one another and wait for reality to set in. 

Mohinder wakes up much later and knows even before he sees the note beside him that he is gone, the pain of it - his absence fills him now with a mixture of emotions. He pushes them away, locks them up in the dark of himself.

"_I'll be back for you…" _

It says and Mohinder crumbles it up in his hand, gets up and goes into the bathroom. He is numb, no feeling - no emotion until he looks in the mirror. There is redness in his eyes and a streak of dried blood on his chest. A faint, last, tangible reminder of _him_, of what happened between them.

It shocks him back into himself, reminds of what he is now.

He grips the sink, lowers his head, cries.

**TBC**


	2. Part Two

Impossible Things

Part 2

Summary: _After Sylar left Mohinder, Mohinder started a relationship with someone just has broken as himself but is it about love or something darker? And of course, what happens when Sylar returns and finds out who has taken his place? _

(6 months later)

_Evil is sweet in the beginning but bitter in the end - Talmud_

He hadn't meant to become involved but now he was and for the most part it was a happy enough arrangement.

One that should have been more then it was but he held back. He knew the reason but there was no need to have it said especially when you were in bed with a mind reader.

Peter Petrelli had survived the explosion but something had been broken inside him as a result. His brother's death and sacrifice had wounded him in some unfixable way and he was now a hollow shell of the man he had been before Kirby Plaza.

Then again so was Mohinder and when they had fallen into bed with one another as a result, it seemed only natural. Perhaps, unhealthy but natural.

They had only discussed Sylar once, the first time Peter showed up at Mohinder's apartment. It had been a month since Sylar had left and Mohinder was drowning amongst the tattered shreds of his memories and his regrets.

Peter was a welcome face - gone now was the pretty boy he had remembered and in his doorway stood a man now. One whose face had taken on a hardened, world weariness that Mohinder knew and could understand.

Mohinder had let him in and made him some tea.

They had sat on the couch drinking, when a funny look came across Peter's face. He looked up at Mohinder and nodded, set his cup down on the coffee table.

"So - he survived, didn't he?…"

Mohinder had swallowed thickly and gotten up.

He didn't know how to answer that but he didn't need too.

Peter had followed after him.

"You saved him… and then," his words trailed off as he glanced back towards the couch. It was enough for Mohinder to realize that Peter knew how the rest of the story had ended.

"Then he left you," Peter finished and Mohinder nodded.

"It was inexcusable, I know what you must think of me…"

Peter had shaken his head and moved towards him.

"Hey! first off, you have no idea what I think of you _okay _and second," he paused, eyed Mohinder carefully before speaking again.

"We don't always chose who we let in Mohinder…we don't…you're a better man then me actually, you thought he was worth redeeming but…"

"That is no excuse," Mohinder whispered to himself, unable to look at Peter.

"I am as guilty as he is," he muttered, staring down at his hands as if he expected to find them soaked in blood. His expression was one of pure pain as Peter moved closer and put his hands on his shoulders.

Their eyes met.

"_Never_ be sorry for caring, if you cared for him then I'm sorry," he said, "because he was never worthy of someone like you in the first place."

Then Peter kissed him, hard and Mohinder let him.

They had gone to bed together and from that moment on, they had an understanding.

Mohinder would be there when Peter needed him and in return Peter would never mention Sylar again.

Peter came and left sometimes for days at a time but he always came back in the end.

It was their ritual for neither of them were quite ready to put an actual face to the relationship they had. They were friends, they comforted one another and they were lovers who kept one another sane but there was no real definition to what they had and it was okay.

It kept the dreams away for Mohinder, the ones that would startle him awake, only to remember his face, _Sylar_, drifting there so close he could almost touch him.

He was especially grateful for the nights Peter spent over so that he could roll over and wrap him in his arms and feel somewhat sane and human again when the realization of what he had done and with whom would loom in his thoughts to close for comfort and keep him awake and restless.

Mohinder had good days and he had bad ones.

There were some days were he felt he couldn't even get out of bed and it was on those days that Mohinder was grateful for Peter.

"Your research is more important," Peter had told him once when Mohinder questioned the envelope of money that Peter had left him.

"I have more then enough," he continued, "you don't need to drive a cab."

Mohinder had thrown it back at him at first, angered by the sight of it.

"I am not for sale," he had told him and Peter had picked it back up and shoved it into his hand, hard.

"I wish for once you could read my mind the way I could yours," he said through gritted teeth, "It's not payment… for _that_…I am giving you this because I want to know why this is happening to us, why this … _is… _so just shut up and take the fucking money."

Mohinder did.

It was another thing of which they never spoke of again.

Mohinder continued on with his father's research but in the months since he was no closer to unlocking any of his father's mysteries and even the thought of his father, was too much bear more often then not.

He had betrayed his father in every sense of the word and he was sick with it, sick with the painful knowledge that he still wanted the man who had killed him.

He now thought back on there one time together with great bitterness and unbearable longing and try as he might he could not keep the memory of it from popping up now and again when he and Peter were together. He knew Peter knew but he never said anything, not directly.

He would sometimes stop though in the middle of their love making and tell Mohinder to look at him, as if wanting to remind him who he was with and it was at those times Peter became more aggressive, more possessive.

He left scratches and bite marks on him at those times as if to claim him, as if to say that this was his and his alone.

He didn't dare tell Peter that he preferred it like that anyway, that it made him feel closer to the man who was no longer there, whose specter hovered over them both like a ghost they could not escape.

It wouldn't have mattered anyway, Peter probably knew that too.

Mohinder wasn't a fool and he could see as time went on that Peter was in love with him and he would wonder if that meant he loved him back.

He didn't know - but, he cared. He was grateful to him, for him. He might have not had the strength to continue on with life had it not been for Peter coming into his when he had. He might have taken the cowards way out and ended it.

But, there was still the work and there was Peter and those were reasons enough to try and continue on even if…

He didn't even recognize his own face anymore.

Mohinder was on the computer when Peter slammed into the apartment and startled him. He was in a panic, his eyes wide with it and he had tears streaming down his face as he stood there for a second as if dazed and then his gaze slowly traveled over to his own.

"Peter, what -"

He didn't finish as Peter stormed up to him and slammed his hands onto the desk, upsetting the papers scattered across it.

"Do you still love him?"

"What?"

"You heard me!" Peter shouted, his face red and distorted with his fury.

A chill raced through Mohinder as he stammered out an answer.

"Why are you asking me that?"

"Just tell me…"

"Peter, please what is it…"

Peter had turned his back on him and was now sobbing openly into his hands, shaking.

Mohinder stood and went around the table and towards him.

"Just tell me what's wrong."

Peter shoved his hands off him and turned on him, his face a mask of cold fury and such pain, it looked as if he would come apart from it.

"That son of a bitch! The one - you _never_ stop thinking about! He killed Claire…he killed my niece…and you still - you still fucking love him!"

Mohinder could do nothing but stare at him. He had no answers, no words.

"I am so sorry," he managed to say but Peter was hearing none of it.

"I am going to find him and I am going to kill him, understand?"

Mohinder went to speak but stopped himself.

"Do you understand I will kill him or he'll kill me, either way…."

"Don't go," Mohinder says softly as he reached for him and this time Peter let him hold him.

Peter looked at him, shook his head.

"Why? Are you afraid for him?"  
"No," Mohinder says sadly, "I'm afraid for you - afraid what will happen to us."

Something inexplicable crossed Peter's face for a moment something decidedly tender but then his expression went dark again.

He pushed Mohinder off him and chuckled bitterly.

"So there's an us now?"

"Yes," Mohinder said carefully, "I love you Peter."

Peter stood there and for a moment, Mohinder thought he might have reached him.

Yet, he shook his head and came over to him and took his face in his hands, peered into his eyes and gave him a sad, bitter smile.

"That's a lie Mohinder, it always will be, won't it?"

"I don't know," Mohinder answered honestly

"I do," Peter said as he started towards the door, he paused and looked back.

"Nothing will change until he is dead to the both of us," he added.

Mohinder could do nothing but watch him leave.

Mohinder had not heard from Peter in two weeks. He had kept calling his cell phone but he never answered. After a few days he gave up and stopped trying.

He can't sleep and when he does his dreams are troubled ones. He dreams of both men, fighting one another - for him, for control of his life and his heart. He wakes up soaked with sweat and overcome by the situation he is now in.

He has unwittingly fallen in love with them both.

One is sensible, they could with time heal one another. Together they just might learn to live again. The other is something dark, desperate but his heart doesn't care. It craves him, hungers for it.

He wakes up in the dark, there is a noise and he turns his head towards it.

He scans the dark room for its source but sees nothing, until someone grabs his arm, hard.

He gives a strangled cry as he is pushed down on to the bed and pinned there.

"Peter Petrelli," he hears him snarl from beside him and he knows that voice, it fills him with a cold terror that works its way up his spine, making him gasp out loud.

"You and him," the voice continues, "you _chose _him - out of everyone in this whole miserable world, why?"

He can't answer, the words stuck in his throat.

The hand on his arm tightens its hold on him, bruising him.

"I asked you why?"

He can feel his breath now, cold as he leans over him. The heat of his anger and his jealousy as Mohinder lies there trying to see his face.

"Sylar," he whispers but the grip only tightens and he cries out in pain.

"Why him? Why?"

Mohinder can hear the fury in that voice but there is also pain there, a torment that fuels the pain in his own heart, his own anger and hostility towards the man beside him.

"Because you weren't there," he manages to get out and the answer stuns them both.

Sylar lets go of him and sits back.

He sits up slowly now and eyes the dark figure sitting beside him, his back is to him. He sits there silently and Mohinder doesn't know what to do so he sits there and watches him.

Then he sees him lean forward and cradle his head in his hands, sees his shoulders quivering ever so softly in the dark.

_He isn't is he? Is he…crying?_

"Do you love him?"

It is such a human question and the voice that asks it now is surprisingly gentle. He can hear tears in that question and he swallows hard and moves towards him and slides his hand over his.

He feels Sylar stiffen under his touch.

"Yes," he says and Sylar pulls his hand from him and stands up, a dark shadow looming over him.

"I told you I would be back," he says, "why didn't you wait for me?"

"Why did you leave in the first place?" Mohinder asks him and the questions seems to take Sylar aback but Mohinder watches as he struggles to answer him.

"Because I knew…I just knew that…"

Mohinder stands up and goes to him and closer now, he can see his face more clearly as his eyes adjust to the gloom and he sees heartbreak in that face._Could he really care that much?_

"You knew what?"

"That it would all wind up fucked in the end, Mohinder."

Mohinder can feel tears whelm up in his own eyes at those words and he struggles with the tangle of emotions that fill him now as he realizes that everything he says is true.

_It never could have been…anything more then it was…I will always hate you…part me would never forgive…_

"You're right," Mohinder answers, "I'll never forgive you."

It is with those words that something snaps in Sylar and he reaches out and with his mind sends Mohinder flying back and onto the bed. He starts to move but instantly feels the weight of Sylar on him, straddling his hips.

Mohinder tries to sit up but is pinned down by Sylar's power, unable to move, he tries to speak - now he is frightened, now he can feel the panic setting in.

"I would have - I could have given it all up for you," Sylar is panting now as he moves his mouth over Mohinder's own and breathes his words into him. His moist breath sending a tremor of unwanted pleasure through Mohinder and he cries out, terrified to feel Sylar growing hard as he grinds himself up against him - dominate, aggressive, violent.

"But its too late for all that now, right Mohinder? You don't want to play house with me…no, you wanted to humiliate me…with him of all people, well - he knows now what happens when he oversteps himself were you and I are concerned."  
_Oh god! This is the reason Claire is dead…Oh god! This is all my fault._

Sylar pauses to continue to kiss and caress Mohinder roughly, biting and sucking at his neck and shoulders hard enough to leave marks. Mohinder is crying now as he feels the evitable upon him.

He feels his body responding under his touch, feels himself hardening and he hates it. Hates himself for being little more then a slave to this man, to now want nothing more then to have him once again.

Sylar sits back and eyes him, there is something dark in those eyes but also - something real, too real.He does care…

"Let me up," he says softly and he sees his words register for a moment but Sylar only grins, his lips curved into a dangerous smile as he eyes him hungrily.

"Why? it doesn't matter now," he says smirking, "you'll never forgive me for anything I've done, including this."

"Please…Gabriel," he begs and Sylar seems to be taken by surprise by the name but he only shakes his head and leans down and kisses him, tearing into his bottom lip as he does so.

Mohinder cries out as he tastes blood from his torn lip and he realizes that he can not talk his way out of this.

"Don't - call - me - that - again," Sylar growls, "You gave up that right, so now…what I want from you is this…tell that little shit the next time you see him - that Claire was only the first…I am going to upend his fucking world - everything that asshole ever cared about belongs to me, starting with you…understand?"

Another rough kiss, one smeared with the taste of his own blood.

"You're mine…you always have been and you always will be and he will know the next time…who it is you want…you need…you hurt me Mohinder and I don't like feeling hurt…so now…"

"I am going to make you hurt right back."

_**TBC**_


	3. Part Three

Impossible Things

Part 3

What is done out of love always takes place beyond good and evil.

- Nietzsche

_"You don't have to do this…"_

_The helplessness of the situation - of being powerless against him, drives the fury out of him. He wants to hurt him, he wants to make Sylar feel every bit as helpless as he has felt, not only at this very moment but for the last six months, for everything._

"_Get off me," he growls._

_Sylar leans forward and kisses him, deep, hard._

_A kiss that leaves them both panting and gasping for breath._

"_I don't want you…"_

_The smirk on his face drives another surge of anger forth and he can feel the tears of frustration coming as he turns his face away from him. _

_Not like this, please…god not like this… _

"_You're just as much of a liar as I am," Sylar whispers to him, as he roughly caresses him, "you want this too…don't you?"_

_Mohinder closes his eyes and says nothing more._

_He is just grateful for the fact that Sylar can't read his mind the way Peter can._

_Afterwards, he is remorseful. He can see it as he pulls away from him shuddering and Mohinder lies there for a moment. His mind is strangely blank. He feels Sylar release him from his telekinetic hold on him and he takes the opportunity to roll over and as far away from him as he can get._

_He lies there, counting his breaths, waiting for him to leave. _

_He feels Sylar get off the bed and start pulling on his clothes. He doesn't turn to look at him. The room is strangely quiet and after a moment, he feels him come over to the bed and sit down next to him and Mohinder doesn't look, can't bear the thought of his face._

"_Mohinder," he hears him whisper to him and Mohinder turns slowly as there is something so sad, so desperate in the way that he says his name that he can't help himself. _

_He turns his head slowly and looks at him._

_The vengeful look that had been in his eyes is gone now. His face - his expression is soft now, gentle._

_Those eyes of his, black now and filled with tears, pleads with him now with an intensity that fills him with a strange pity. One he does not want to feel towards him._

_He feels as if he is falling, falling down a well of blackness and he can't breathe. _

_He feels it - somewhere deep in a part of him he will never admit to - the true nature of his feelings towards the man sitting beside him. He knows now that he is lying to the both of them by denying what had been there from the very first moment they set eyes on one another, what is there still even after all of this…_

_He loves him and he hates him for making him love him. For making him want to deny everything sane and normal for the sake of his touch, no matter how tainted - no matter how stained it has become. _

_He did want it - he wants it still. _

"_Mohinder," he feels him reach to touch him but stops when he feels Mohinder recoil from him._

"_Please," he hears him whisper, "I can't - live like this…half a person, I would never…how did I hurt you? Why…tell me why I would hurt you like this?"_

_Mohinder sits up slowly and reaches for his clothes, feeling horrified by this change in his personality._

_He is wary of it. He eyes him carefully as he gets up and dresses._

"_Mohinder?"_

_He looks back and it dawns on him, as he realizes that he is no longer in the room with Sylar. _

_Sylar is gone now having had his rage and lust sated and has left Gabriel in his place, remorseful and sickened by what Sylar had done. _

_He can't bear it. This yin and yang - the revulsion and love and pity and pain that fills him. It is too much and he starts to shake all over, overwhelmed. _

"_Please Mohinder…"_

"_Get away from me," Mohinder all but screams at him, "I don't care who you are…I need you away from me…from my life!"_

_He leaps on him and starts pounding him with his fists as hard as he can but it feels as if he punching into a wall and not a person and the only thing Sylar does is reach up and grab his wrists and hold them tightly in his strong grip. _

_The fight is over. _

_Mohinder is once again helpless to defend himself._

"_I hate you," he whispers, "Do you hear me? You disgust me!"_

_He watches him close his eyes, open them. He releases his wrists._

"_And I love you," he says, stepping back and away from him and Mohinder watches as the wounds he managed to inflict, disappear as suddenly as he had inflicted them._

_He wipes at a smear of blood from under his lip and sighs, looks over at him._

"_I have never said that to anyone in my life, no one except you - right now."_

_Mohinder only smiles at him coldly. _

"_This was you're idea of love?"_

_Sylar looks away from him._

"_You have no concept of love," Mohinder tells him viciously, "all you know how to do is destroy."_

_They stare at one another for what feels like hours but only moments pass and finally Sylar answers him._

"_You're more right then wrong, Mohinder but even still I meant what I said."_

_Mohinder watches as he goes to the door, turns back and looks at him._

"_This isn't over," Sylar tells him._

"_Yes, it is," Mohinder replies but he knows in his heart that he is lying._

"_Will see," is all he says as he leaves._

When Peter shows up three days later, he is greeted by not only the sight of a disheveled and sleepless Mohinder but also the sight of him, punching him as hard as he can in the face. The blow catches him off guard and he stumbles back but doesn't fall, he looks up surprised and rubs at his jaw.

"What in the hell…" he starts and Mohinder just stands there, panting. His eyes wide and angry.

"Why weren't you here?"

Peter looks at him and tears fill his eyes as he hears Mohinder telling him in a rushed torment of thought what had happened while he was gone. The words he catches and there implication make him feel sick to his stomach.

_It doesn't matter…I wanted it…I'm sick, I want it…_

"Can you just calm down?"

It's the wrong thing to say.

Mohinder just stares at him for a moment and then he is flinging things at him: books, a chair, whatever his hands reach for he throws and Peter manages to stop most of what he throws at him from hitting him as Mohinder screams at him.

"Calm down!'

He continues, "Calm down! - where the hell were you?  
Peter has never seen this side of Mohinder, he comes over to him and grabs his arm, one poised to throw a coffee mug at him and twisting his arm makes him drop it.

"Just stop," Peter says and Mohinder looks at him, eyes damp with his tears and he collapses against Peter and lets him pull him into his arms, lock him tight in them and he finally lets go.

He is sobbing and hitting him and trying to get away but Peter won't let him. He just holds him all the tighter and rocks him back and forth.

Eventually, the sobs taper off and Peter is able to pull back and take Mohinder's face in his hands, he sees that his bottom lip is scabbed over as if he had bitten it and hard from the looks of it. His eyes travel down to the sides of his face, his neck nearly black and blue with marks.

There implication is painfully clear, his eyes fill with tears as he stumbles back from Mohinder.

"How bad did he hurt you?' He asks carefully and Mohinder tosses his head back and laughs bitterly.

"You can read minds Peter, do you really want me to have to say it?"

Peter can't bear it.

He turns, anger and frustration and pain for what has happened and what he couldn't stop fills him as he turns back once more to the sight of his lover, standing broken and bitter before him.

"I'll kill him," Peter stammers, "so help me, I will…"

"Or he'll kill," Mohinder says softly, " this is all my fault."

"Mohinder," Peter says as he comes back over to him and takes him back in his arms.

"I am so sorry," Peter whispers into his ear, "I am sorry I couldn't have been here…that I wasn't…that he did that to you."

"It makes you happy, doesn't it?'

Peter only shakes his head, and steps back from him.

He puts a hand to his face to stop the flood of tears that threaten him. He is shaking all over, filled with rage and regret and such raw hatred for the man who is responsible for all of this.

"Don't!"

Mohinder is relentless, he wants Peter to hurt. To feel as he does now, weak and helpless and utterly pathetic.

He creeps up behind him, his words vicious and mean.

"It does, admit it…you like that he did that to me, you like that now - I can stop comparing you to him every time we fuc…"

Peter spins around and catches him by the collar of his shirt and slams him back against the nearest wall.

"Shut up, don't - say - another word, you're just hurt, angry…"

Mohinder just laughs but the laugh is bitter, he shakes his head.

"But, the worst thing is, I still wanted him even after… I want him still …"

The words hit Peter like a hard punch in the gut. He slams Mohinder up against the wall harder but the other man only continues to laugh at him.

Peter releases him and staggers away from him, shaken to the core of himself by Mohinder's words.

"So now you know Peter, does it hurt to hear?"

"I can read fucking minds, Mohinder…I already knew…"

"Then why haven't you left me?" Mohinder asks, his voice breaking, "I don't deserve you, I don't deserve anything, I should have just let him die…"

He slides down the wall and sits there, head lowered to his knees and his whole body shaking as he starts to cry.

"I should have killed us both," he whispers.

The air is still around them for a moment and then Peter takes a breath and comes over to him. He kneels down and pulls Mohinder into his arms and they hold one another for the longest time.

"I haven't left because I love you Mohinder," Peter says after a moment.

He pulls back to take Mohinder's tear stained face in his hand, gently kisses him over his bruised lips.

His confession only makes Mohinder feel worse. He starts to sob harder as Peter holds him even tighter in his arms.

'And I know you love me too.." Peter says, "if you still do - then leave with me, right now, this second, lets go somewhere and start over, okay?"

Mohinder looks into Peter's wide pleading eyes and he knows that this is the only way for them to ever make what they have work. A clean slate, a new beginning.

It takes him only a second to tell him yes.

-------------

He stands in the middle of a now deserted living room, the furniture had been left behind and everything else is coated in a fine layer of dust.

He walks over to the closets in the bedroom but he already knows that they will be empty. That everything in them will be gone. He stands there and feels the unwanted thudding of his heart, especially loud and vivid to his extrasensory hearing. It is the only thing he can feel now as icy numbness fills him to the very core of himself.

"What do I have to do, Petrelli? – mail you your mothers head before you stop fucking with me," he growls to himself as he turns around and slams a fist into the wall beside him, feels the welcoming blossom of pain in his knuckles as he feels them crack and the plaster give way under his hand.

He pulls his hand back and is only half aware of the pain. It doesn't matter, thanks to Claire, the bones he broke, knit themselves back together and his hand is fine once more.

He stares at his hand and honestly, he's a little disappointed. He had welcomed the hurt, would have preferred to have left this empty apartment physically broken rather then mentally.

He is gone.

But, it doesn't matter - because he has all the time in the world to find him. _Find them both._

--------------

The sun is setting but the night is still warm, a hot breeze blows off the water and brushes his hair back from his face, he closes his eyes and breaths in the heavenly combination of sea breezes mixed with the smell of blossoming bougainvilleas.

He leans over the railing and pauses to reflect and enjoy this moment of absolute contentment and peace.

His life now in the last month has been better then he had imagined and he feels each day the weariness that had plagued him lift a bit more, freeing him from its cloistered hold on him.

It was getting late but Peter had told him he wouldn't be gone very long.

"I am just going to get some things – mail some letters back home and be back before it gets dark."

Mohinder had kissed him good bye and had set about setting the outside patio for dinner. He had made a huge pot of gazpacho – along with a sizzling pan of cheese enchiladas (all of Peter's favorites)

He takes one last appreciative whiff and goes over to the patio table and pours himself a glass of sangria, carries it over to a lounge chair over looking the water, sits down. He is in love with Mexico – the people, the culture, the beautiful landscape.

Most of al, he loves the youthful happiness it has awakened in both himself and Peter. He is now much like Mohinder had remembered and his happiness is infectious and hard to ignore.

He hears a noise behind him and turns his head slightly, calls out.

"Peter, is that you?"

There was no answer. Mohinder starts to turn around in his seat when a hand comes down and grabs him by the throat, jerking him back into his seat, hard. The glass he is holding slips out of his hand and crashes onto the patio, spraying it with glass shards and spilled wine. "

Miss me?" The sound of his voice causes the bile to rise up in his throat as he starts to struggle but as soon as he starts, the grip tightens and he is suddenly locked in a life or death battle for his life.

"_That_ was for making me chase you all the way to fucking Mexico," the voice snarls as the hand slips away and is replaced by a mental hold as he is pulled from his seat and flung against the railing.

The mental hand releases its grip on his throat and leaves him sputtering and coughing on the ground. He looks up and standing there in the fading sun, dressed in black pants and a black wife beater is Sylar.

_We didn't run far enough…never far enough… _

Sylar leans down, runs a thumb over Mohinder's face, watches as Mohinder pulls back from him and shoots him a hateful glare.

"You don't look very happy to see me," Sylar says, pulling his hand away, head cocked at an angle as he takes in the furious and frightened face of his former lover.

"I went to a lot of trouble to find you; Petrelli's mother was a tough old bag, put up quite a fight before she finally ratted the two of you out."

The news of this sends a visible tremor of open disgust through Mohinder.

"You sick son of a bitch…"

Sylar only smiles. "Probably, but you left me with no choice."

Mohinder just continues to glare at him.

"Really, did he honestly think I would you give you up so easily?"

He leans over to touch Mohinder's face again and Mohinder can see the pain flash briefly in his eyes as Mohinder pulls away from his touch. Sylar lowers his head for a moment and then lifting it, looks back at him. "

"When I told you I loved you Mohinder – I meant it."

"Get away from me," Mohinder hisses.

"Never," Sylar replies and leaning in, grasps Mohinder hard by the jaw, tilts his face up to his and kisses him roughly.

Mohinder pulls away from him, horrified and starts to stand but Sylar pushes him back down and pins him there with his mind.

"You know the way I see things Mohinder – you have two choices, one – you come with me and no one gets hurt or two – we wait here for Petrelli to come home and I kill him and take you with me anyway…"

"Maybe, he'd kill you instead," Mohinder whispers and watches as Sylar only smiles, a cocky eyebrow raised in amusement.

"Maybe – I doubt it, man couldn't find his way around his own two feet – sides' I have killed him before and most likely could again, do you really want to chance it?"

Mohinder looks away, his heart falls into his stomach and a million thoughts fill him as he struggles with his decision.

One he knows he has to make, because he is already brought enough pain and misery to Peter.

_He has already lost his brother and now his niece and his mother…I can't … I can't let him hurt…_

"Time is running out Mohinder, decide?" Mohinder turns back to him, eyes wide and frightened.

"You touch him and so help you, I'll find a way to kill you myself," Mohinder hisses.

"Then you've decided," Sylar answers with a smirk.

_Forgive me Peter…forgive me…for everything…_

"Yes," he manages to reply.

**TBC**


	4. Part Four

Impossible Things

Part 4

Summary: _While, Mohinder and Sylar reconnect with unforeseen results. _

_Peter goes in search of the one person who can help lead him to their whereabouts. _

Mohinder wakes up suddenly in a dark room, feeling light headed and disoriented. He groans as he tries to sit up but a hand comes down on his chest and pushes him back, steadies him.

"Relax," the voice says and his head flops back, he feels as if he is floating, everything in his periphery is soft and muted.

Mohinder strains his eyes against the gloom and sees a face swimming in his blurred vision.

"What - what happened?"

"Just lay back," Sylar reassures him and Mohinder's eyes begin to flicker, he starts to speak but a heavy blackness is rolling back in, his eyes close and he's asleep once more.

------

_Meanwhile_

Peter pulls up to a small home on the outskirts of a subdivision in Los Angeles and shuts the car off, checks the house number and then gets out.

He hurries up the small walk way and rings the bell, and waits rather impatiently for it to be answered.

An attractive brunette with a warm face opens the door and grins at him, in her arms is a very small infant, a baby boy from the looks of the blue blanket she has him wrapped in.

"Can I help you?"

"Is Matt home?"

The woman smiles and nods, "Sure, can I tell him who it is?"

"Peter Petrelli," he answers her, "from New York."

_Just get off your ass Matt and come to the damn door already…_

_Petrelli, what the hell?_

"I'm Janice, his wife," she says as she holds the door open and ushers Peter into the front hall just as Matt comes into the foyer and locks eyes on Peter standing there.

"What is it?"

Matt asks anxiously forgoing pleasantries and Janice turns to her husband and shifts their newborn in her arms.

"You guys want something to drink?" She asks as she steps past the both of them and towards the kitchen.

"No, thank you," Peter answers her politely for the moment ignoring Matt's questioning look.

"Yeah, I'm good," Matt answers without looking at his wife.

"Alright, I'll leave you to it," she says as she passes Matt on her way out, touching her husbands arm as she does so.

"It was nice meeting you Mrs. Parkman," Peter says politely and she looks back smiles.

"It was nice meeting you as well."

Matt is still eying Peter cautiously as Janice leaves the room, leaving them alone.

Then he turns to Peter with a pained look on his face, holding a hand to his head as he does so.

"Christ! Peter… slow down, you're giving me a goddamn migraine," Matt says with a grimace as he takes in the flood of words and thoughts that Peter sends telepathically towards him.

"Well, I sure as hell don't have time to discuss it all," Peter answers out loud.

Matt looks around and makes sure there alone.

"Okay so - let's get this straight, first off - Sylar is alive?"

Peter nods, "yeah," he answers.

"And…he what…shacked up with Mohinder, and then you shacked up with Mohinder…and then, wow! Okay - I - wow, this is just - this is really fucking weird Peter," Matt says, scratching his head.

Peter storms up to him and grabs his arm.

"I don't have time for all this Matt, I need your help…I need Molly."

Matt shook his head.

"No," he says.

"No," Peter shot back furiously, "That son of a bitch has stolen everything from me, do you understand? Everything and now he's taken Mohinder…I have to find him, stop him…"

"She can't do what you need her to do Peter," Matt says, sighing, "she's a sick little girl and the more she uses that power, the sicker she gets, no!"

Peter laughs and shakes his head.

"I don't need her to find him…Christ Matt, I just need to meet her…I'll find Sylar myself."

------

The next time, Mohinder opens his eyes, his vision is clearer and his head feels less heavy. It is light outside; a breeze blows through an open window, blowing back tattered, yellow curtains.

Mohinder sits up and surveys his surroundings. The room is rather large, a bedroom of some sort. The wallpaper is faint and peeling and the furnishing sparse. He glances to his right and notices an open door, he realizes it's a bathroom as he can see the sink and tub from were he sits.

His eyes sweep further across the room and comes to rest on Sylar, sprawled out on the room's one chair of which is parked near the door. Sylar's head in dropped towards his chest, as if he were asleep.

Mohinder sits there for a moment and wonders what he should do.

Should he chance an escape? Mohinder isn't sure were he is? He glances over towards the open window and wonders if he should try and escape out of it.

It dawns on Mohinder then that he is more then likely not on a first floor or else, Sylar would not have chanced leaving it open. Still, it is possible, he could still get out that way and run for help.

Yet, Mohinder knows even if he could manage such a thing, Sylar would come after him anyway.

He knows that Sylar will never let him go and any chance he takes at escaping will only result in Peter's death.

The fact now that he has it in his power to keep Peter safe is the only thing that is keeping Mohinder going. He owes Peter a chance at a normal life, one that his presence is only causing pain to - it is fault that his mother and niece are dead.

Mohinder is numb, not frightened but numb and unsure of what to do.

He swings a leg over the side of the bed as quietly as he can and then the other. He turns to look back at Sylar and almost gasps out loud to find him awake now and looking at him coldly from across the room.

Sylar stands and as he makes his way over to the bed, Mohinder can see the fatigue in his face, see that his eyes are bloodshot. He also looks thinner and noticeably worn out.

"My – you're awful quiet this morning," Sylar says as he approaches and Mohinder wills his breathing steady as he faces his tormentor.

"What did you do to me?"

"I knocked you out – figured you had enough excitement for one evening and could use the rest," Sylar says, with a cocky grin and now he is right in front of Mohinder. Mohinder starts to move past him but is jerked back by his arm, hard.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"To the bathroom," Mohinder hisses as he jerks his arm free, it takes every ounce of his will power to keep from spitting in his face.

"Do you mind?"

Mohinder asks, sarcastically, eyes narrowed as he refuses to give Sylar the satisfaction of seeing him quiver in fear before him.

Sylar releases his arm and eyes him carefully.

"Don't try anything dumb," Sylar tells him.

Mohinder gives him another hard look and then stomps past and into the bathroom, eager to be alone. He slams the door as hard as he can behind him.

---

Sylar is overwhelmed. He sits now on the bed and watches with weary eyes, the closed bathroom door that Mohinder has entered. Sylar hears the lock turn and then the sound of the shower starting. Sylar keeps an ear out for Mohinder's heartbeat, listening for any changes in it that he should be concerned with and his heartbeat is a bit faster then it should be, he gets up concerned and then he hears it.

The sound of Mohinder crying.

Mohinder is trying to be quiet, to choke back his sobs as he stands under the hot spray and tries to keep his sobs down. Yet, Sylar can hear him very clearly as he sits on the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do – unable to find it with himself to go to him, take him in his arms. A gesture he knows will only be greeted by anger and hostility and that damning, hateful look in Mohinder's eyes that he cannot bear.

Therefore, Sylar clenches his hands into tights fists and sits there, eying the door.

His eyes burning with fatigue as he lifts a hand up to his face and wipes at his jaw, slaps his face a little and tries to wake up.

He had driven for sixteen hours straight, a silent trip as Mohinder laid beside him in the passenger seat, knocked unconscious and compliant.

He knew then as he knows now as he sits here in this desolate farmhouse and listens to the painful, racked sobs of the only person in the world he can say matters to him that no good will come from this.

Yet, he is unable to stop himself, to admit he's lost him and let go.

Sylar won't admit it but the truth is - that all he has his Mohinder, killing brings no pleasure anymore, he doesn't want to collect powers and be special.

He just wants him.

Yet, he knows now that Mohinder hates him and will never look again at him as he did the first time they were together with wide, tear stained eyes - the blush of pleasure across his face as he had bent down to kiss him, love him.

A pang of guilt touches him but his eyes narrow and he wills it away.

_If you hadn't decided to take up with Petrelli in the first place…none of this would ever have happened…_

He gets up and goes to the door, bangs on it.

"Hurry up!"

"Go to hell," Mohinder shouts back as the shower shuts off and he hears the sound of the curtain being yanked back as Mohinder steps out of the tub.

"Open the door!"

Mohinder allows himself the faintest trace of a smile at the sound of panic in Sylar's voice as the door knob rattles.

"Open it yourself," Mohinder shouts back and he knows he is treading dangerous waters, taunting him like this.

Yet, what does it matter now?

There is nothing else, he is stuck with him now, with this life and if Sylar expects him to just settle in and be compliant and weak well then he has another thing coming.

Mohinder is tired of weakness; it is his weakness that has started this whole sorry scenario from the start.

"Don't fuck with me, Mohinder…swear to god! Not today, not ever," Sylar kicks the door and it's old enough to budge a bit and Mohinder sits back on the edge of the tub, towel drying his hair and forcing back hysterical giggles that have started to form in his throat.

"What…are you not powerful enough to handle a _door_?"

Sylar steps back from the bathroom for a second, red in the face and shaken.

It isn't like he can't melt the damn door handle or knock down the shitty thing with his mind; it's him – not opening it for him when he asks, for defying him – for being stubborn.

Sylar growls and gives the door another sharp kick and this time it splinters slightly. He hears Mohinder chuckling and it sends him into a rage. He has had enough games – enough of him. He steps back and using his mind sends the door flying open, banging it against the wall as he stumbles into the bathroom.

Mohinder looks up, towel wrapped around his waist and one in hand as he smiles up at him, his eyes though are callous and mean.

"You really do look like shit," he says and Sylar stomps over to him and jerks Mohinder up by his bicep the towel falls out of hand and flutters to the floor.

Sylar grabs him by the arm and throws him out of the bathroom, were Mohinder stumbles back towards the bed but does not fall, the back of his legs hitting the metal frame painfully.

He looks up and though there is fear, a panic…he doesn't give into it even as Sylar marches back over to him with that lustful, predatory gaze of his and he stops right in front of Mohinder.

Mohinder lifts his eyes up to his and makes his gaze as hard as he can and Sylar only looks at him and then he does something Mohinder doesn't expect him to do.

Sylar takes his face in his hands and starts to kiss him, much like the first time, slowly, gently and so soft and sensual – that Mohinder feels instantly aroused and his legs start to give away but Sylar holds him tight between his hands and Mohinder responds, months of torment and frustration and denial race through him as he reaches up to grab Sylar by the back of his neck and pull him to him, returning his hungry kiss with one of his own.

Sylar pulls back long enough to search his eyes and seeing the tears in Mohinder's, leans forward and kisses them away.

'I should never have left you," Sylar says as he sets back upon kissing him and Mohinder turns his head as he feels Sylar nip and kiss at his neck, trailing his lips down to his collarbone, licking and sucking.

A moan of pleasure escapes his lips as he grasps Sylar by the back of his head and pushes him closer to him.

_How I can still want this?…want him…what the hell is the matter with me?…_

Mohinder gives a strangled cry and pulls himself up and out of Sylar's arms and before Sylar can speak, he is heading back towards the bathroom and scooping up his clothes with one hand while the other tries in vain to hold the flimsy towel in place and Sylar follows him to the doorway and watches him as he turns from him and dresses.

"Stop lying to your self," Sylar says as he leans against the doorframe, eying him. Mohinder looks back at him as he slides into his pants and scoffs at him.

"You know nothing about me," Mohinder hisses, furious with him and this tangled web of emotions that surge through him as he takes in the pained expression and weary stance of the man before him.

"As I know nothing about you, Gabriel…" Mohinder taunts and watches as Sylar eyes narrow into slits.

Sylar stalks up to him in a second and grabs his arm, hard.

"I told you not to call me that!"

"I just did," Mohinder says, wrenching himself out of his hard grasp.

"Besides' who exactly is Gabriel anyway, huh?"

'Gabriel was and is a no one," Sylar says, eyes narrowed dangerously, as Mohinder steps back from him, slips his shirt on.

"Much like you, I see," Mohinder chides and he can feel the air in the room change as Sylar's temper flares and Mohinder is pleased with himself, for pushing his buttons, for getting under his skin the way he has gotten under his.

"Gabriel and I are nothing alike," Sylar snarls, "he was spineless and weak and he cared too damn much… what they thought, what _she_ thought…cared too much about what made other people happy and not enough… about…"

Mohinder watches as the different emotions race across Sylar's face: revulsion and anger and heartache.

Mohinder sees something in Sylar's eyes, a flash of raw pain and it nearly stops Mohinder in his tracks.

"Who is she?"

"What?"

"You said she… that _she_ thought you cared too much…"

Another look of pain sweeps across Sylar's face, but he suddenly clams up, a wall goes down and darkens his features.

Sylar doesn't answer, he turns and goes back into the bedroom and walks over to the window, just stands there as still as a statue with his arms folded across his chest.

Mohinder can tell he is mentally as well as physically exhausted which is probably why he has gotten this much out of him in the first place.

The man Sylar is, is a complex and complicated riddle – one of which he knows next to nothing about but a feeling of tenderness sweeps over him as he steps over to him and gently touches his back, feels him stiffen under his touch and turn his face away.

Mohinder doesn't speak, outside the day is bright and sunny.

_Almost perfect, almost…_

Mohinder takes a moment, sees nothing but a rolling field, desolate rural farmland and wonders were he is, why Sylar has chosen it of all places.

"This is where she grew up," Sylar whispers, softly, back still turned.

Mohinder feels an invisible tremor race through, its eerie to have your mind especially by someone who isn't a mind reader.

"Who?"

"My mother," Sylar chokes out, still avoiding eye contact.

"Where is she?"

Sylar coughs and moves out from under his hand.

"Nowhere, she's dead."

"Oh," Mohinder says. Sylar turns and looks at him, nods.

"I killed her Mohinder."

"You…did what?"

"I killed my own mother," he repeats, his tone strangely flat but the pain in his eyes is very real and very human.

"Why?"

Sylar just shakes his head, stares down at his hands, almost as he expects them to be covered in blood and Mohinder watches as he starts to fall apart.

"It was an accident, I didn't mean too…it happened and…she and I…I just wanted her to tell me it was okay, it was okay for me to be myself…to not NEED to be something else but she wouldn't – she couldn't just…if only…"

Mohinder hears the tears in his voice, his torment and he is strangely touched and sympathetic towards him as he starts to see a glimpse into who the man before him is truly.

He reaches for his hand and Sylar looks down at it.

There is silence for a moment and then Sylar tears his hand away from his, angry.

"I don't need your fucking pity," he snarls and Mohinder unnerved once more by these strange changes in temperament, nods and steps back from him.

"It wasn't pity…it was concern which is more then you deserve," he whispers.

Sylar just glares at him a moment before looking away.

"If you had woken up and I was there…what would you have done?"

The question takes a moment for Mohinder to process, fair enough that he has already asked the same question of himself many a time but here, this moment to be faced with it is overwhelming.

He flounders for a moment and then looks up, staring into deep, dark and utterly beautiful eyes and answers.

"I wouldn't have been able to handle it, I would have…lost control…I don't know, I just know…"

"That the idea of me was repulsive enough without me sticking around to rub your face in it, right?" Sylar finishes for him and Mohinder nods.

Sylar sighs and turns away.

"I knew that…and even still…I thought, I thought that when…," he chokes for a moment, his voice a strained whisper, "you saved my life…I could no longer…pretend, the answer was so clear… you were suppose to save me, heal me…and the anger, knowing he could give you what I couldn't…I…can't control the way you make me feel, the anger and jealousy and …all of it."

He looks up, struggling to meet Mohinder's eyes and Mohinder is moved by the sight of his dual selves fighting for control and he see that Sylar is pleading with him, begging him to understand what can't be articulated.

Mohinder wants to hate him, _needs _to hate him but finds with a sick realization that he can't.

Because he can no longer deny the simplest of all truths, that he loves him.

Mohinder steps towards the man before him and takes his hand again, holds it.

This time when Sylar reaches for him, Mohinder lets him.


	5. Part Five

Impossible Things

Part 5

AN: I am so sorry for the long delay in posting. My muse had to go and die on me. Anyway, here is the last chapter. Enjoy!

As always a huge thank you to Motsureru for the amazing beta work.

"Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory.

Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember. We can change the memory of our past into a hope for our future."

- Lewis B. Smedes

This time when they come together, there is no doubt or fear.

It has crumbled away to a dull roar as they collide in a kiss that leaves them both breathless.

They revel in the feel of the other, the strange, calm beauty of finally understanding. It is not like the first time. It is not about desperation, impulsive lust, or the bitterness of unrequited love.

This moment is deeper, more spiritual than that.

Nor is it anything at all like the second time, where it had been a coupling born out of the need to possess, to control - born out of jealousy and betrayal and need at whatever cost.

This time there is no desire for either one to punish, be punished. No need to mark each other with the stain of such an encounter.

Instead, they move together slowly as if they have all the time in the world. They allow this moment, one of total acceptance, to drown them both.

They stumble back towards the bed. Their lips never leave one anothers' as Sylar gently pushes Mohinder back.

Mohinder falls backwards as he reaches up to pull the other man down with him.

When his outstretched hands find nothing but empty space; he opens his eyes and sees a genuine fear hovering like a shadow in Sylar's intense gaze.

It stops his heart.

Mohinder sits up and Sylar stands before him as Mohinder goes to speak. He is stopped by Sylar's long graceful fingers trailing down his face, cupping his chin as he leans forward to capture Mohinder's lips once more in another agonizingly slow kiss that curls a fiery path through Mohinder.

Mohinder reaches up and pulls Sylar down towards him.

They tumble onto the bed and for a moment they simply lay there Sylar adjusts his weight so Mohinder is pinned firmly but comfortably beneath his larger body.

Their eyes meet one another's; Mohinder is the first to break the spell as he raises his hand and lightly touches Sylar's face.

Sylar turns his cheek into Mohinder's palm and nuzzles it, eyes closed for a moment. "Look at me," Mohinder says, and Sylar does as he requests.

"Tell me what you want." Mohinder insists.

Sylar responds by leaning down and putting his mouth to Mohinder's own.

A moan escapes Sylar's mouth and Mohinder is there to press his lips against it, savoring the feel of Sylar trembling in his arms, shy and hesitant.

"What I have always wanted. Just you." Sylar whispers.

There is something so freeing in this. They move against one another and Mohinder sits up slightly to allow Sylar to pull his shirt off before they collide together once more.

There are more kisses, more fingers and hands and lips exploring every inch of exposed flesh.

They savor it, become intoxicated in the moment.

It is a moment where the past is lost to the both of them. All that surrounds them now is taste, sensation, touch- and they dive head first to greet it.

The past and the pain it has brought the both of them they ease away in this tangle of limbs and burning desires, renewing the desperate passion between them.

Mohinder knows now that he can no longer pretend that his heart is a dead and useless thing.

He can no longer pretend that it has not yearned for this, wanted this – even at the expense of sanity, of good and right and all shades in between. This is what he wants, who he wants, even though there have been mistakes taken, wrong paths that he has walked to come to this place of absolute acceptance.

Mohinder realizes it could never have happened any other way.

It is in this very second as they make love to one another, when Sylar enters him with one firm, solid thrust that steals the very breath from his lips, that he understands how it is possible for two people to heal one another. Mohinder wraps his legs around Sylar's waist, arches his back, and starts to beg for it.

Sylar bends down now to capture his mouth with his own, whispering endearments into it as he takes Mohinder's body past the point of pleasure, past the point of pain - to a place neither has a name for.

His whole body starts to tremble, and an orgasm deeper and more earth shattering than any Mohinder has ever known before starts to rush through him.

Mohinder closes his eyes, thrusting up to meet Sylar. He finds the moment, the truth, and opens his eyes to embrace it.

He looks into Sylar's eyes now, hooded with lust, need for him, and …. Mohinder knows:

He has at last truly forgiven Sylar, and Sylar has forgiven himself.

&&&

It has taken him awhile, but Peter has finally managed to get the skills he absorbed from Hiro under control, barely . He materializes and finds himself on some back country road, having missed his mark. Peter stands there under an impossibly brilliant night sky, looks up, and breathes a sigh of relief. He is at least where he needs to be more or less. Still, he silently curses himself now as he stands on this deserted, road somewhere in Texas, that he has not spent these last seven months further developing and tweaking his skills. He had been far too busy wrapped up first in self pity and then in keeping Mohinder sane and happy and now – now, both of their lives are at stake.

Peter knows he has to be smart about this in his planned approach. The last thing he wants to do, that he _can't_ do, is fail.

He has failed far too many people in his life; the names and faces that hover along the surface of his mind now, but he hardens his heart for the time being and pushes them away. Their presence will only weaken him and he can't allow even the thought of weakness now.

No, he came here to put an end to this whole sorry saga, to get justice for them, and for himself.

He hates Sylar. Once he had thought himself the kind of man incapable of such a thing. He found the concept of hatred horrifying and soulless but there is no other word to describe the coil spring of fury that is racing through his bloodstream as he walks up this moonlit dirt path. He is ready to face the man who has taken his life apart and taken everything from him.

There will be no peace for Peter until he has killed the man who dared to come between him and Mohinder, who deserves to die for every innocent staining of his monstrous hands with blood.

Peter hurries along as he comes to a clearing in the path and spies a huge, rundown farmhouse made of brick and peeling white shingles situated in the middle of an overgrown field.

The wind causes the porch swing in front to squeak on its chain rusty and it is obvious that this place has not been used in quite some time.

Peter wonders why Sylar chose this particular house; there is something so desolate about it.

It seems like Sylar himself, cold and deceiving.

Peter creeps closer to the house and sees that all lights are off. It is quiet but there is a truck parked out front, an older late model Ford with Arizona plates. Peter has no doubt that it is stolen and its original occupant dead. He gets closer to the house and pauses to steady his breaths as he wonders how he should approach this.

He could go in, guns blazing, and challenge him head on, or he could sneak in, invisible, and wait for his opportunity.

Peter would much prefer to go in the first way and simply open the door and confront him fearless and ready, but Peter also knows that he has only the element of surprise on his side.

Peter knows that for all of his gifts he is no match for the other man. He needs, therefore, to be cautious and play the situation as carefully as possible.

After all, it is not only his own life that is at stake, it is Mohinder's. He will be damned if he gets him hurt or, God forbid, killed.

Peter fades into the night air, unseen and invisible now, and walks towards the silent home. He climbs the porch, pausing as it squeaks under his weight. The floorboards are ancient and rotted through in some spots. He pauses, cocks an ear, and listens for any signs of movement.

There is none.

Peter simply slides his body through the door, phasing right through it. He suddenly feels thankful for this useful ability he picked up from that blonde woman's husband the night of Kirby Plaza. He finds himself now in the darkened front hall. A swatch of moonlight from an open window helps him adjust to the heavy gloom and he is able to make out heavy oak furniture and threadbare sofas.

The whole house has a musty, decaying smell and Peter fights back the urge to cough as a layer of dust settles into his lungs.

Peter walks towards the staircase and slowly makes his way up.

He is very slow; he pauses and counts to ten between each step, not wanting to rush things and give away his presence in the house.

Peter is half way up the stairs when he hears voices and sees a light switch on in the hall.

Peter knows he's invisible, but it doesn't stop him from reacting to the light as he presses himself into the banister and looks up, watching as Sylar comes into view.

Sylar is at the top of he stairs and he is wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants and a white tee shirt. It surprises Peter, just how normal he looks; there is even a small smile on his lips as he turns back.

Peter watches with heart sick agony as Mohinder comes up behind Sylar and wraps his arms around him. He nuzzles his back and Sylar twists his head to kiss Mohinder, full on the mouth.

It is a gesture that nearly knocks Peter back. He almost comes apart from the scene before him. Of everything he expected – this wasn't it.

Peter creeps down the stairs slowly, his eyes still locked to the two before him. They are laughing together, a sound so foreign and painful that Peter can feel the tears already stinging his eyes. Feeling he will be sick, he moves down and away from them.

Peter finds himself at the back of the house and finding a door leading out of the kitchen and out onto the yard opens it – not even thinking, simply needing to get away from the scenehe has just witnessed. Peter stumbles out of the house and into the yard, where he falls down to his knees. He's sick before he can stop himself.

_How could you Mohinder, how could you do this to us? _

"He doesn't know you're here."

Peter hears the low grumble of his voice, and turns around, still invisible. He eyes Sylar on the back steps, scanning the backyard, eyes narrowed.

"I want to keep it that way, so here's your chance, leave."

Peter feels his heart speed up as anger floods over him. He stands there shaking with his hands clenched into tight fists. Peter stares down the man before him, one whose cool confidence only enrages him further.

"I can hear your heartbeat," Sylar says, "Really, why did you even bother, Peter?"

The rage continues to fill Peter has he stands there, shaking with it.

It erupts out of him as Peter sends Sylar flying back with his mind and into the back door, which shatters under the force.

Sylar flies through the air and slams into the kitchens counters, landing in a heap on the tiled floor.

Peter is after him in a second as he hurtles himself across the broken door and into the kitchen, ready to attack.

Peter is almost upon his opponent as he is suddenly forced back by a large kitchen knife being hurtled in his direction.

The blade gets him clean in the shoulder, pinning him to the wall behind him with a force strong enough to crack the dry wall behind him.

The pain of it forces Peter to drop the invisibility as he finds himself screaming in agony. He looks up, trying to pull himself together,only to see Sylar rise to his feet, slowly, and with that same infuriating confidence.

Sylar's eyes narrow as he wipes away a smear of blood from his lips.

Peter watches in horror as the injuries he had managed to inflict heal instantaneously. "You can thank your niece for that one, Pete," Sylar says coldly.

Peter's eyes narrow; he grabs the knife from his shoulder and wrenches it free, hurling it to the ground.

The wound closes up as Peter now faces the man whom he despises more than anything.

"I told him I would let you live, don't make me break that promise," Sylar says as he eyes the smaller man, "Just leave."

"Not before I see you dead!"

"You and I both know you can't stop me," Sylar snarls, "Even with that amazing ability of yours, you're too weak."

The knife suddenly moves from its spot on the floor and flies through the air at Sylar, who feels an unseen force push him from behind. He loses his footing and falls into the knife, impaling himself in the chest.

It is almost in the exact same spot where he had sustained his earlier stab wound. This time things are different.

Sylar can feel his skin fighting to heal around the blade as he reaches out and grips Peter by the throat using his telekinesis. He watches as the other man squirms like a baited worm in his grasp.

Peter tries to catch his breath but can't – this is like last time. He is being choked by an invisible hand as he is slid up the wall and held there. He watches as Sylar rips the blade from his body and hurls it at Peter, getting him in the shoulder once more.

Peter screams, eyes burning with fury as Sylar approaches. A kitchen drawer opens and knives rattle and shake. He tries to will himself away, stop time – anything— but the panic of being strangled is taking over and he can do nothing.

"Don't!"

Peter twists watery eyes towards the voice; both men recognize it.

"Go back upstairs Mohinder," Sylar says.

Mohinder ignores him, stepping into the room, and is completely horrified by the scene before him. There is blood everywhere; it covers the floor, making his feet stick to the linoleum surface. It drips down the walls, violent and ugly. He stares in shock from each man to the other.

Then he turns to Sylar, shaking his head.

"Don't do this Gabriel, don't kill him…"

Sylar pales at the name but doesn't acknowledge it. He cocks his head to the side and studies Mohinder's stricken expression.

"Why? Do you love him?"

"Yes," he admits, "I love you both – don't – you're choking him," Mohinder pleads.

"Don't worry, he's not going to die," Sylar answers with a sarcastic sneer.

Mohinder races up towards Sylar and grabs his arm, but it feels like marble in his grasp. Sylar laughs low and mean as he throws Mohinder to the ground.

"Decide, Mohinder…"

Mohinder just stares at him before he turns his eyes to Peter's, sees his eyes trying to focus even as the life is being strangled right out of him.

"I love you," Mohinder says as he turns his attention back to Sylar, watching as the hardened look on his face dissolves slowly. Mohinder is at last able to see once more the traces of the man he spent the afternoon locked in the arms of.

"I choose you, it's always been you. But I can't stand here and watch you kill Peter, not when I have done enough to him already."

Sylar nods and releases Peter, who tumbles to the floor like a broken rag doll, gasping and choking for air. He backs against the wall and leans into himself, gulping air. Mohinder ignores the angered look on Sylar's face as he moves towards Peter and crouches down next to him, smoothes his hair from his brow.

"Are you alright?"

Peter knocks Mohinder's hand away.

Mohinder pushes him back down but Peter is too overcome for rationality.

He heaves himself up, using the wall for support and turns to face his rival.

All Peter wants is for that smug son of a bitch to die, and die screaming.

The pain of having Mohinder chose this monster over him is more than he figures he is capable of standing, but there will be a time and a place to heal from it.

Now isn't it - in fact, it's not the priority.

That will have to wait until later. Right now Peter has a plan and he needs to set it into motion before Sylar succeeds in stopping him.

Peter reaches over and pulls Mohinder to him with his mind, grabbing the startled man by the throat and throttling him

"You know what Sylar, none of it matters. Because I win," Peter growls as he keeps his arm locked firmly around Mohinder's throat.

He glares at the other man.

"I am taking him away from you – and you will never find him again –and even if you do, he won't remember you!"

The look in Peter's eyes hit Sylar with a panic he has never known before - desperation races to the surface as he knows with certainty that Peter can and will carry out such a threat.

Sylar steps forward with two quick steps, meeting Mohinder's terrified eyes as he struggles against Peter's grip in vain. Mohinder throws out his hand towards Sylar. Sylar goes to reach him, finger tips inches from one another as Mohinder feels the force of Sylar's telekinesis tugging him out of Peter's grip.

Mohinder blinks and everything disappears around him, goes into a white and dizzying haze. Coming to, Mohinder stumbles as he feels Peter release him.

He is standing in a small, gray, windowless room of cinderblock walls. In the room is nothing save Bennett and a tall, dark skinned man standing there beside him. They have their arms folded and their eyes are hooded and unreadable. Their expressions are devoid of all emotion.

They simply watch as the initial shock eases out of Mohinder and replaces itself with an uncontrollable rage.

"What did you do to me, Peter!" Mohinder screams as all control bursts out of him. He throws himself on Peter, hurling fists and words. Peter simply grabs his flailing arms and squeezes them in hopes of getting Mohinder to calm down. Yet Mohinder only fights against him all the harder.

"You don't understand!" Mohinder shrieks, "How could you do this to me?"

"You're in shock, Mohinder, that's all...You don't know what you are saying."

Mohinder pulls back slightly and meeting and holding Peter's gaze.

"I know exactly what I am saying. Take me back - now!"

Peter only shakes his head in response, his thoughts hidden, his stare impenetrable.

Mohinder goes to speak but stops as he feels something sharp prick his skin.

Mohinder turns just in time to see the needle sliding out of his arm. Peter releases his hands and Mohinder stumbles backwards away from Bennett, who hands the needle over to the darker man beside him.

"This is for the best, doctor," Bennett tells him.

Mohinder simply shakes his head as already the faces before him start to blur and the room spins around him crazily.

It is only a moment before Mohinder starts to fall over. Bennett catches him and lowers him down gently to the ground. Peter stands back as Mohinder collapses; tears sting his eyes as he looks to Bennett who nods towards him.

"Tell I am doing what's best for him?" Peter whispers, "Tell me this is for his own good."

Bennett does not hesitate with his answer, "it's for his own good, Peter…"

Peter takes a deep breath and kneels down beside an unconscious Mohinder. He pulls Mohinder up and towards him so that his head rests against his chest. Peter then nods his consent, breath held in his lungs as he prays that he has done the right thing. That he has saved Mohinder, given him back the life that Sylar had stolen from him. Bennett places a hand on the Haitian's arm.

"You just make sure that he never remembers him, okay?" Peter says as the Haitian steps closer to their spot on the cold cement floor.

"That's what he is here for." Bennett says. The Haitian pauses for only a moment before he kneels down beside Peter and Mohinder.

The Haitian holds Peter's troubled gaze and gives him a slight nod.

"He will not remember any of this, you need not worry."

Peter swallows back tears and takes a deep breath, while pulling Mohinder's unconscious form closer to his body, cradles it.

"He better not," Peter says fiercely as he locks eyes with Bennett.

Then the Haitian places his hand on top of Mohinder's forehead – like a vacuum, the man's amazing ability sweeps through Mohinder's sleeping brain. Like a whirlpool, it sucks away every last memory associated with the man whom Mohinder has turned his world upside down to forgive, to allow himself to love.

Yet -

… Like the unrealistic dream of so many happily ever afters, it disappears - gets sucked into the drain and is lost forever.

Epilogue

The bedroom is near empty, save for their bed and a dresser. There are boxes piled in the corner of the room. Mohinder pauses to set down a crate in hand, then goes over to them sighing at the long day a head of unpacking.

Still, he is elated. He and Peter have finally found a place to call their own. A cozy two-story ranch with a nice manicured lawn and a swimming pool.

He is just anxious to make it feel like a true home for the both of them.

Mohinder opens one of the boxes and starts to rifle through it. Mostly it is papers - some books, nothing he knows what to really do with at the moment.

He starts to put it aside so he can ask Peter when he comes back from returning the moving van to the rental place when he spies a small, cedar box.

There is something about it, something that doesn't quite click, but nevertheless gives him pause. He reaches for it, pulling it out from under a mountain of loose-leaf paper.

He steps back and opens the lid. Inside there a few odds and ends, old coins – a swatch of material and a crumbled up piece of paper, brittle and worn, creased into wrinkles from being read so often.

Mohinder takes it in hand as he sits the box down, backs up until legs hit the back of the chair they had pushed into the far corner of the bedroom, and sits down in it. Mohinder carefully unfolds the fragile paper in his hands and reads, the faded ink –

"_I'll be back for you." _

It was not his hand writing in fact, he had no idea whose it is or what they had meant by such a sentiment. But the words hit Mohinder hard as he sits there, reading and rereading that line over and over again, until it started to blur and he was crying, clutching it to his chest and sobbing though he had no idea why. No reason at all as why the words written there in his hand hurt far deeper than any pain he had ever known before, or why one name found itself on his lips, ghosting the surface – aching for something unreachable, something he could not define: Gabriel.


End file.
